


Good As New

by DPPatricks



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Angst, Banter, Case Fic, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:47:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23701060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DPPatricks/pseuds/DPPatricks
Summary: Post SR, an unexpected turn of events prompts these hospital room conversations.
Relationships: Ken Hutchinson/David Starsky
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	Good As New

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally posted on the Starsky&Hutch 911 livejournal site on 2/1/2016 as a birthday gift for Spencer5460. You are always wished a Happy Birthday, Spencer!

“Eeny, meeny, miny, moe. Catch a tiger by the toe. Never ever let him go. Eeny, meeny, miny, moe.”

“Starsky.”

“Hmmm?”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m playin’, Hutch.”

“I can hear that.”

“So, what’s the question?”

“What are you playing _at?_ ”

“I’m making a game out of keeping your feet and toes limber and strong, babe. The therapist is going to show me how to do it for real. Not just your feet and toes, but your ankles, calves, thighs, even your fingers, hands and arms. I’m going to keep all your parts working, pal, so that you won’t have to put much time into PT, once you’re outta here.”

Suddenly he was in my field of vision - Starsky, my best friend, partner and lover. His face held such an earnest expression of belief, I did my best to smother my depression and fear. “Yeah, okay.”

“I’m going to exercise all your muscles and joints, Hutch, twice a day. Because you _are_ going to get back on your feet!” He put the earnestness of his expression into his voice. “The doctors are going to find something to knock out that little bug in your brain stem, and then you’ll be fine again.”

“I’m paralyzed, Starsk.”

“Yeah, I know.” He picked my hand up off the bed. “But, it’s only temporary. They say as soon as the infection’s gone, you’ll be good as new.”

“If it _is_ an infection,” I couldn’t help pointing out. “I’ve overheard the doctors, they don’t know what the hell’s wrong with me.”

“What else could it be, Hutch?”

“Gee, Starsk,” I was unable to keep the biting sarcasm out of my voice. “If I knew that, don’t you think I’d’ve --”

Before I could hurt my partner worse, Captain Dobey pushed the door open. His face was blank, but his eyes showed the intensity he usually reserves for depraved felons.

Starsky surreptitiously put my hand back on the bed and moved around to the other side, pulling the sheet and blanket over my feet on the way.

Behind Dobey was Dr. Bresnahan, the neurologist who’d been attempting to find the cause of my immobility. I’d begun to feel nauseated, then weak on Tuesday afternoon, three days ago. And I’d had a terrible headache. I didn’t have a fever and hadn’t eaten anything unusual. I couldn’t keep down the Chinese food Starsky and I had picked up for dinner that night though, and by nine o’clock, I couldn’t walk.

Reluctantly, I’d let Starsky put me on his back and carry me down to his car. Any remaining doubts I might have had about his return to full strength were dispelled after that little adventure.

Unfortunately, at the hospital, they hadn’t been able to find the cause of my difficulties and had talked me into being admitted so that they could start a battery of tests. By midnight, I couldn’t move any part of my body below my chest. I could still breathe on my own, although it was labored. I could move my head from side to side but couldn’t lift it. And I could talk. I had some sensitivity in my hands and arms but not much, and almost no strength. I could barely make a fist and raising either one of them off the bed was impossible. Everything else below my sternum was ‘out to lunch.’

Starsky never left my side the whole night but, by morning, none of the tests had produced an answer. My symptoms were about the same and no one had any new ideas. Starsky’s face was haggard. I’m sure mine didn’t look any better. Dobey came by and vowed to get somebody who could help me.

Nathan Bresnahan, the country’s top nerve specialist, had been called in from Boston but, so far, had been unable to determine a reason for my paralysis. Now he stood beside my bed, tall, thin, reserved; concern and perplexity in equal measure in his quiet visage.

Dobey looked at me, distress plain on his face. “Dr. Bresnahan’s come up with something, Hutch.” He looked at Starsky. “You two need to tell us everything you did on Tuesday. Everything.”

“Sure, Cap,” Starsky said, “but what’s this all about? Hutch and me didn’t do anything or go anywhere that could’ve resulted in this infection.”

“It’s not an infection,” the doctor said.

He got my full attention with that statement.

Starsky put a hand on my shoulder.

“I’ve run every possible test, Detective Hutchinson, and I --”

“Please doctor,” I interrupted, “either just Hutch, or Ken.” I tried a small smile that probably wasn’t completely successful. “The other is too many syllables right now.”

“Very well then, Ken.” Bresnahan sounded as if he wasn’t comfortable with first names, but was willing to go along with a patient’s request. “When Captain Dobey contacted me and told me your problems, I thought it would turn out to be Guillian Barre Syndrome. The symptomology is quite similar. But it is not. My tests have concluded that your condition is not being caused by any biological agent, or physiological problem with your body. It’s chemical.”

That hit me pretty hard. I’d had a ‘chemical’ situation in the past and wasn’t looking forward to repeating any part of that. Starsky’s fingers tightened in memory and empathy. God, no wonder I love him so much, he’s always there for me. Always.

“What do you mean by ‘chemical,’ Doctor?” I asked, cautiously.

“At some point, I believe on Tuesday, considering the rapid onset and progression of your symptoms,” Bresnahan continued, “you received a substance I cannot yet identify. It was possibly delivered by injection, ingestion, or even through simple skin contact.”

“Your situation isn’t an illness, Hutch.” Dobey sounded angry. “Someone tried to kill you.”

I looked at Starsky. “The yoga instructor,” we both said at the same time.

Starsky picked up my hand in his free one. Neither Dobey nor Bresnahan reacted to the additional contact.

“You know Hutch and me have our regular yoga class every other Tuesday afternoon, right, Cap?” Starsky asked Dobey.

“Whenever your cases allow, yes.” Dobey nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Yeah, well…” Starsky continued, “we’ve missed more than a few, that’s for sure.”

“The point is,” I said, needing to get all of us back on track. “Tuesday we did make the class and…” I looked at Starsky again. I really didn’t want to accuse anyone if he wasn’t in agreement.

“It was a different instructor,” Starsky finished. He squeezed my hand. “She said Laura, our usual guru, had a family crisis and asked her to fill in for a couple of months. She seemed like she really knew her stuff and everyone in the class got along great with her.”

Dobey took a notebook out of his breast pocket, and a pen. “What was her name?”

I slogged back through painful memories to Tuesday. “Paula, I think.”

“Paula Jane Littleton,” Starsky supplied. He winked at me before looking at Dobey. “She slipped me her phone number after class, Cap.”

“Remember my water bottle, Starsk?” I asked, pointedly.

The light went on behind my partner’s eyes. “That’s right! She stepped on it in one of her trips around the room, correcting postures. I think it was while we were in ‘down dog’.”

I looked at Dobey and Bresnahan. “The bottle cracked and started leaking. She was really apologetic and ran to get her own water bottle from her satchel. She insisted I take it, said she had plenty more.”

“You drank from it the rest of the session, Hutch.” Starsky’s voice was taut.

“Do you still have that container?” Dobey barked.

“No sir,” I admitted. “She worked us hard and I emptied it. I’m afraid I threw it in the recycle bin on our way out of the studio.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over it, partner,” Starsky said, realizing I was already kicking myself. “You had no way of knowing.”

Dobey tried to swallow his frustration.

“How soon afterward,” Bresnahan asked, “did you begin to feel unwell?”

I looked at Starsky, questioningly. I wasn’t sure of my memory.

“It was on our way back to the precinct to finish our shift,” Starsky told Dobey and the doctor. He looked at me. “I thought you were going to throw up in the car and I was kind of pissed.” He squeezed my hand in silent apology.

“Nausea would have been one of the first symptoms,” Bresnahan agreed, “especially considering the way it was administered. The headache came next, I assume. Followed by weakness?”

I nodded, the memory of how bad I had felt almost overwhelming.

“Where’s the phone number she gave you, Starsky?” Dobey demanded.

My partner dug the piece of paper out of his wallet. He handed it over without a glance. Dobey folded it into his notebook and turned to the neurologist. “What do you need, Doctor, to fix Hutch?”

“The formula for whatever she used,” Bresnahan said. “Failing that, a sample of the substance.”

“You’ll have it!” Dobey nodded significantly at me, then at Starsky. “I’ll be back as soon as we’ve got her in custody.” He left the room.

“Your symptoms haven’t gotten any worse, Ken.” Bresnahan’s bedside manor was mild and comforting. “So I’m going to believe that, once we receive the formula, or the substance, we’ll be able to come up with the counteragent.” His face cracked into a near smile. “Nothing against your fair city, gentlemen, but I want you on the road to recovery, Ken, so that I can get back to Boston. I miss it when I’m away at this time of year.”

Starsky reached across the bed and shook the doctor’s hand. “We really appreciate everything you’ve done, Doctor.”

“I haven’t done anything yet, Detective.” He waved off the gratitude. “Once I’ve got your partner out of this bed, thank me again.”

“We’ll do that, sir,” Starsky promised.

“Get some rest, Ken,” Bresnahan said to me. “If your captain is half as good as I think he is, we’ll have you out of here as soon as possible.” He nodded at each of us before he turned and left.

Starsky dragged the obligatory uncomfortable chair up to the bed with his foot, never letting go of my hand. He sat down, a confused expression on his face. “Can you believe it, Hutch?”

“Slipped you her phone number, did she?” I couldn’t keep the smirk out of my voice. For some reason, even facing the uncertainty of Dobey tracking down little Miss Littleton and getting the formula, then Bresnahan being able to counter what she’d done to me, my earlier depression and fear had vanished. I was feeling pretty darn good. Still paralyzed, but good!

My partner had the decency to look embarrassed. “I was going to tell you about it, Hutch, but then you got so sick…”

I was tempted to let him go on explaining and apologizing, but our bouts of teasing each other had dropped off precipitously recently and I wasn’t about to re-invigorate them. Our love was too important to me for that. “I know, Starsk. If you hadn’t taken it, she would have wondered.”

“Yeah, probably.” Starsky smiled gratefully before turning thoughtful. “Why d’you suppose she did it?”

“No idea.” As far as I knew, we’d never seen her in our lives before Tuesday. “I guess we’ll have to wait to hear what Dobey says.” I tried squeezing his hand but I don’t think he felt it. “Shouldn’t you get your butt out there and help him track her down, partner?”

“Naw.” Starsky dismissed the suggestion. “Dobey needs to feel empowered right now. I think he’s getting really tired of these hospital vigils. He’ll find her without my help.”

Starsky grinned and jumped up. “I’m going to use my time as constructively though, and play with your pretty feet some more.” He moved to the foot of the bed and threw the covers back. “If the doc’s planning to have you out of here soon, I won’t get many more chances.”

“You’ll have all the chances you want when we get home, Starsk.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, smiling slyly. “But unless it feels like we’re getting away with something, where’s the fun?”

I lifted my head as much as I could, which wasn’t more than a couple of inches. Starsky rotated my right ankle gently, in both directions, a few times. He held my heel firmly and flexed the foot up and down. After that, he began to bend and stretch my toes. I dropped my head back on the pillow.

“That’s good, Starsk.”

“How do you know, smart ass? You can’t feel a thing.”

“True. But I know what the touch of your hands is like, and my mind can think I feel it.”

“You know what’s scary, Hutch? I understood that.”

“You’re right, partner,” I muttered, suddenly tired. “That is a little scary. I didn’t understand it myself.”

“Go to sleep, babe. I’m just going to play here for a while.”

I lifted my head again.

Starsky had switched to my other foot and was repeating the manipulations gently. “Eeny, meeny, miny, moe, catch a tiger by the toe….”

I put my head back and fell asleep.

*******

“Her real name is Tanya Washcroft,” Dobey said, two days later, his voice tightly controlled. He was sitting in the uncomfortable chair. Starsky was standing on the window side of my bed, holding my hand. “In addition to being a certified yoga instructor, part time, she’s a chemist at TransAllied Pharmaceuticals.”

The penny dropped for Starsky and me at the same moment. “Last year’s meth lab bust,” he said.

“Right you are, Starsky.” Dobey checked his notes. “You arrested her brothers, Clayton and Clinton. They’re doing twenty-to-life in San Quentin. The three siblings all worked for TransAllied.”

“But her name never came up in the investigation, Captain,” I said, sure of that fact.

“Because she was never involved,” Dobey told them. “She was strictly legit. Her supervisor says she’s a true genius when it comes to inventing new substances and compounds.”

“I guess she is.” Starsky sounded impressed.

“Their parents fell completely apart after the boys were convicted,” Dobey continued. “The wife committed suicide, the husband hasn’t stopped drinking. Tanya decided to make you both pay for her family’s destruction. She tells me she wanted you, Hutch, paralyzed. The stuff she gave you was never intended to kill. You, Starsky, would wear yourself out, taking care of him for as long as the paralysis lasted. She was sure you’d do that.”

“For as long as it lasted?” I asked. “You mean she knew it wouldn’t be permanent?”

“I have no idea.” Dobey shrugged. “Don’t think she does, either. Seems like there wasn’t time to do any real testing; she only knew you’d be paralyzed. Not to what extent, nor how long it might last.” He checked his notes again. “Her friend, Laura, wasn’t going to stay in Florida indefinitely. Tanya had to be ready if and when you two showed up at a class.”

Starsky squeezed my hand and I was actually able to squeeze back. I’d had the first dose of counteragent and it was already working. I should be ecstatic, but I wasn’t.

“Where is she now, Captain?” I had expected to feel happy to know that Dobey would make sure the person who had done this to me paid for it. But ‘happy’ wasn’t a passenger on my current emotional roller coaster. Relief, definitely. Anticipation of getting out of here? You bet! Gratitude for all Dobey’s dogged determination? Unquestionably. And above all, love for my partner’s unfailing support. But happiness? Not really.

“She’s being evaluated at the psyche ward here, Hutch,” Dobey said. “I have no doubt that she’ll be found competent to stand trial. She’s not crazy.”

“No,” I agreed. “I don’t think she is, either.”

“So!” Dobey got stiffly to his feet. “When does Bresnahan say you can get out of here?”

“Just as soon as I convince him I have feeling in all my limbs,” I said, with as much enthusiasm as I could muster, “and I can walk the length of the hallway and back with a walker.”

“The way he’s goin’, Cap…” Starsky grinned at me, “that might be tomorrow!”

“Hold on, Starsk --”

Starsky lifted a shoulder toward Dobey. “Well, maybe the day after.”

Dobey put his hand on my arm and bestowed that fatherly smile that always melts me. “I’m really glad we figured this out, son. I’d hate to lose my best detectives to some retribution-minded female.”

“She knew I’d take care of him, huh?” Starsky asked.

“Yes, she did,” Dobey said. “She told me she hoped it would be the ruin of both of you. You’d lose your jobs because the department wouldn’t be able to continue sick leave indefinitely. Hutch’s disability payments couldn’t support you both, and she knew you wouldn’t come back to work without him, Starsky. She seemed to want you both alive, but destroyed.”

“Am I stupid to feel sorry for her, Cap’n?” I needed his perspective.

“I’d be worried about you if you didn’t, Hutchinson,” Dobey said, gruffly. “Now! I’ve got mounds of paperwork waiting for both of you just as soon as the doc says you can come back to work.” He looked at my partner with thinly disguised relief. “You’re on sick leave, too, ‘til then, Starsky. Take care of him.”

“Count on it, sir,” Starsky responded.

After Dobey left, Starsky picked up my hand and began manipulating the fingers, rolling the wrist and flexing the elbow joint.

I put as much resistance into the activity as I could, knowing that my muscles would regain their strength faster if I did. Starsky smiled and kept up his ministrations. His ‘eeny, meeny, miny, moe’ hummings were beginning to get on my nerves though. Just a tiny bit.

Starsky moved to the other side of the bed and began on my other hand and arm. He smiled that lop-sided grin I adore. “Good as new, babe.”

*******

Never walk again  
Not sick though, deliberate  
Unacceptable

END


End file.
